Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
The cardinal rule of diners? Never piss off the server or the kitchen staff.
“Oh.” Her gaze drops. “It’s just leisure wear?”
It’s just that she can’t help herself.
“Activewear is the new day wear.” Mrs. Stepford.
Margret Elizabeth Hadley Winthrop—was Carrington for a while (that husband was old money but too tightfisted with it) and before that, Fairfax—is an absolute gas. Or maybe I mean that she makes me want to gas myself. She’s gorgeous in a way I’ll never be. Where I inherited my dad’s auburn cast, Mom’s hair is like liquid gold. Her delicate beauty will never fade, thanks to a host of regular tweakments. Sadly, her outdated attitude is here to stay too. I love my mom. I do. It’s just easier for us both that I love her from afar.
“So, what are you doing here?” Unannounced and uninvited—surely that’s a social sin on your antiquated planet.
“Todd surprised me with a trip to Paris.” She twists away, her hand swooping around like the host of a dating show.
Meet my stepfather, Todd Winthrop, a sixtysomething self-made millionaire and an old money try-hard. And boy does he try hard. My nerves, mostly. Despite being married to my mother for almost seven years, he hasn’t picked up on the fact that people in her set aren’t slaves to designer labels. Meanwhile, old Toddy boy is dressed from toe to toupee (or maybe hair transplant) in Loro Piana, Canali, and Cole Haan. Quiet luxury that screams I have money! very loudly.
“Hey, Todd!” I wave, then trudge my way over to him like a dutiful stepdaughter. One not in the mood for his conceited bull. “You know, it’s still technically summer here in London,” I tease, tweaking his cashmere sweater. I bet there’s a Moncler gilet lying around here somewhere too.
“I found the weather a little cool,” he says, wiping a palm over his sullied threads. “How are you, Evelyn?”
“Just peachy.” And waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Sweetheart.” Oliver takes the pause as an opportunity to remind me he’s here with a kiss to the cheek.
“Sorry.” The smile I send his way is genuine, my heart doing its usual pitter-patter in the face of all that handsome. But I wish he wasn’t here, because these little meetings rarely end well.
“How was your day, darling?” Handsome and domesticated. What a catch.
“Busy but good.” I apologize with my eyes. Make no promises surely included no meeting of the parents.
“How about a drink?”
“Yes, please.” Make it a bucket.
“Muffy?” Oliver turns, but she cuts him off, holding out her glass. It would be highly unfitting for my mother to have another drink, but she will allow her glass to be refreshed until the cows come home. Vodka, club soda, and a twist of lime. She swears it’s what keeps her trim and once suggested it was a tipple I should adopt. At the time, I felt the same about cookies. If you weren’t opening a new box, then surely one more didn’t count. I suppose the only issue with her dieting advice was I was fifteen years old at the time.
Drinks are poured, and we settle, Mom and Todd on one couch, separated by her beloved ten-year-old Birkin purse. I sit next to Oliver on the other couch, Bo at my feet, and the coffee table a line drawn between us.
“So, when are you guys off to Paris?” Please say soon. These family meets are always as comfortable as a pelvic exam.
“Tomorrow,” Todd says. “We flew into London just to see you.”
“Lucky me.” And I mean it. Only one night! Still, my smile feels like one on a ventriloquist’s dummy. As in, painted on.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t be here before.” My mother cants her head to one side in a look that’s maybe supposed to convey regret.
“When? Oh, you mean the wedding!”
Her head jerks up, not quite so dignified.
Yes, Mother dearest, I went there! “Don’t worry. It’s not like it’s a secret. Oliver knows I was about to marry another man. He did pick me up at the venue, after all.”
“Quite literally, as I recall.” Lifting his glass, he presses his smile to it. I love how he’s playing along. “It was quite the experience.”
“You were at the wedding?” Todd looks disturbed.
“When are you going to get around to asking what happened? Quick recap?” I offer, talking fast and with my hands. “My fiancé cheated. I left during the ceremony.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sweetie,” my mother says. “It was very unkind of him, but I’m sure it happened for the best.”
Him screwing multiple women was for my best? That’s because she was under the impression (as was I) that Mitchell had no money. No name. No prestige to bring to her bridge game.
“How come you knew where to find me?” We haven’t spoken for, what? Four months? Since she’d decided to inform me she couldn’t make my wedding.